Life ain't even grey

Chapter 1: Broken

He wants to tell her many things, not the least of which is I love you. He doesn’t understand, then, why the word heartbroken is the one word that comes spilling out instead.

“Millie,” he says, later. He can hear himself begging and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but getting her back. If she won’t come back to her senses. If she comes to leave him —“Please.”

Their first alone talk after being back for filming Stranger Things didn't go good. Neither as he has planned so many times.

He was heartbroken. She was engaged to that other dude. But it seemed impossible how their history could be evaporated. It could not. There was so much shit going around her. Vampires.

He can only come up with the idea that her being engaged with him was something she doesn't truly want to.

That stupid piece of shit. Get his dirty hands out of his love. His Millie.

They were something not so long ago. They have been all this time, since the know each other.

Finn has loved her since he was twelve. He thought she loved him too.

It has always been like that since the start. People getting between them. Life wasn't even grey after all. Fate was a big motherfucker.

When they were kids, they promised each other forever. Who would have thought could be separated.

She turns and leaves him there, alone and stupid outside the studios, and not for the first time, he wishes he was dead, if only to make the throbbing, excruciating pain stop.

Dawn beginning to appear on the sky. He knew this was another night when he could not catch a damn good sleep. He probably wasn't going to eat again. He couldn't.

She goes away. He can't even catch his breath at this view. He sees her walking away, her hands on her eyes, covering her tears. He is already crying as he sees her apart from him, again, breaking his heart again.

The next day they arrive at the studios for another day of filming.

Her name is on his lips—it always is—but he can't voice it, and so they pass, almost like strangers, but they both look at one another, and he sees something in her face, something like longing, and, he can only hope, something like mercy.

He's in one of the hotel's rooms the production reserves for shooting. He leaves his plate of food, untouched, another night more. His stomach begs him for him to introduce something but he ignores it. He's far too good at this. He's experienced before. Not eating. He's slim and thin, but he doesn't care. He may vomit if he eats something. He feels sad and alone. Millie's empty spot in his bed feels like a torture.

He kneels in front of his bag. Opens a zipper. His fingers reach for the ring she gave him once. It's simple and beautiful. He wore it before. He grabs it and circles his fist around it, tears fogging his vision once again.

He goes to bed, feeling far away from her, like when in the distance you hear a wolf's cry.